“You’re not to tell him, or anyone.” Fee’s proposed change of name for her place of work was something she professed to have told nobody but me.

“I shan’t,” I assured her. “I tell you what: come and work with me solving crimes and I’ll ask my boss if we can change our name to Scotland Yard Tea Rooms. We do drink tea there, so it wouldn’t be altogether unsuitable.”

“Hmph.” Fee wasn’t impressed. “I’ve heard women police aren’t allowed to stay on if they marry. That’s all right; I’d rather solve crimes with you than have a husband to look after.”

“There you are, then!”

“So don’t go proposing to me.”

“No fear!”

“Charming, aren’t you?”

To dig myself out of the hole, I said, “I shan’t be proposing to anybody, but if my parents ever put a gun to my head, I shall ask you before any other girl—how’s that?”

“Better me than some dreamer with notions of romance in her head. She’d be disappointed, all right.”

I did not want to discuss romance. I said, “As far as our crime-solving partnership goes . . . I don’t suppose you’re expecting Poirot, are you? I hoped he might be here waiting for Jennie Hobbs to reappear.”

“Jennie Hobbs, is it? So you’ve found a family name for her. Mr. Poirot’ll be pleased to know who he’s been fretting over all this time. Maybe now he’ll stop pestering me. Every time I turn around, there he is under my feet, asking me all the same questions about Jennie that he’s already asked me. I never ask him where you are—never!”

I was rather stumped by this last statement. “Why would you?” I said.

“I wouldn’t and I don’t. You’ve got to be careful what questions you ask the question-asking sort. Did you find out anything else about Jennie?”

“Nothing I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Then why don’t I tell you something instead? Mr. Poirot’ll want to know.” Fee propelled me toward an unoccupied table. We sat down. She said, “That night Jennie came in, when she was all sixes and sevens—last Thursday. I told Mr. Poirot I noticed something, and then it escaped me. Well, I’ve remembered what it was. It was dark, and I hadn’t pulled the curtains across. I never do. Might as well light up the alley, I always think. And folk who can see in are more likely to come in.”

“Especially if they catch sight of you in the window,” I teased her.

Her eyes widened. “That’s just it,” she said.

“What do you mean?”